THE TOWER
The Queen of Scots’s maid had been gone a long time. When she returned to Rhonwen, she was breathless and her flushed cheeks betrayed that she had wasted several minutes in the narrow stone passage, kissing a handsome squire.
‘Her grace will see you now, my lady,’ she gasped, straightening her cap. She was enjoying her stay in the royal apartments of the great Tower of London.
Rhonwen gravely followed the girl back up the long staircase and from there she was escorted by Hugh de Gurley, the queen’s valet, into the east-facing bedchamber where Joanna lay propped on a heap of soft pillows.
Joanna acknowledged her curtsey with a wave of her hand. ‘Have you brought a message from Lady Eleyne?’
‘I have not seen Lady Eleyne for many months, your grace.’ Rhonwen was holding a box containing gifts: honey and sweetmeats and pastries to tempt the ailing queen’s appetite. ‘Her husband threatened my life. He used his threats as a lever to force her to obey him. It was a situation which could not continue. I have been living in London in a dower house belonging to the old Countess of Chester.’ Rhonwen was studying her carefully, noting with professional interest the pale skin, the dark rings beneath the queen’s eyes, her languid movements. ‘It is only until Eleyne can reach the king and obtain a free pardon for me.’
‘Oh yes, the death of the Prince of Gwynedd’s bard.’ Joanna lay back. ‘We heard about that. I expect Eleyne will petition my brother while she is here.’
‘She is here then?’ Rhonwen smiled. ‘I had heard rumours but I wasn’t sure. That was why I begged an audience, knowing she would come to see you if she were in London.’
The queen smiled. ‘She and Sir Robert are in Southwark, across the river, staying with the Earl of Winchester. He is our constable of Scotland and will be escorting me home soon.’
Rhonwen shook her head. ‘I sent messages to Fotheringhay to tell her where I was, but I doubt they ever reached her.’
Joanna nodded. ‘She told me something of the marriage. It is not a happy one.’ She sat forward suddenly, her eyes alight at the thought of intrigue. ‘My lady, if you wish to meet Eleyne safely, then you must come here. The king has told Sir Robert to allow her to visit me alone – Sir Robert seems afraid to allow her anywhere without him in constant attendance. Poor Eleyne, she can’t even ride that fearsome great horse of hers. But here at the Tower she can be away from him for a few hours at least.’
Rhonwen smiled. ‘That is a kind offer, your grace, and one I accept most gratefully. I’ve missed Eleyne so much.’
The thought of outwitting Robert de Quincy pleased Joanna enormously and distracted her a little from her lassitude and unhappiness. She reached for the box which Rhonwen had put on the bed, pulling at the pale green ribbons which fastened it.
Rhonwen watched, amused. The woman was a fool, but for the time being she was useful. So for just a while longer her existence could be tolerated.
IX
THE TOWER
Their reunion was a happy one. They clung together for a long time before Joanna’s amused gaze, then at the same moment they held each other at arm’s length. It was scarcely three months since they had been parted, but it had seemed like forever.
Rhonwen was smartly dressed in a new gown with fine linen gloves which she had tossed on to the table. Countess Clemence had employed her officially as housekeeper to one of her houses in the city and, after the initial shock of settling into the cut and thrust of city life, Rhonwen had begun to enjoy herself running the rambling old building in Chester Court off Gracechurch Street. Away from the protocol of life in the prince’s household in Wales, or that of the countess at Chester, she was undisputed head of the house, with freedom to run it as she wished. She did it well and with energy; the only thing which had spoiled her enjoyment was the thought of what might be happening to Eleyne.
‘And Luned? How is she?’ Eleyne was sitting opposite her, near the fire, beside the queen.
Rhonwen frowned. ‘Married.’
‘Married? To whom? When? Where is she?’
‘To a London silk merchant; last month; she is living in Milk Street. I told her she should seek your permission, but she would have none of it. She told me she would like mine, but if I didn’t give it she would go ahead anyway. She was determined to be married before Shrovetide. She wouldn’t wait. They were married on Valentine’s Eve. He is a wealthy young man, good-looking in his way, I suppose, and besotted with her. What could I say?’
Eleyne smiled. ‘Is she happy?’
Rhonwen nodded. ‘Oh yes.’
‘Then I’m pleased for her. Tell her she has my blessing. I’d like to see her.’
‘Tell her to come to us here,’ Joanna put in. ‘If she is married to a silk merchant, perhaps we can buy some of her husband’s wares.’
X
They met three more times, the last with Luned there, dressed now in clothes finer than those Eleyne wore. Robert, handling the money due to her from her dower, used much of it for his own wardrobe. His wife, he announced, had enough clothes already and, seething with anger, Eleyne had to abide by his decision. She saved her finer gowns for audiences with the king and the Queen of Scots. The rest of the time she had to wear gowns and mantles which were darned.
This last meeting did not go well. Joanna, attended as usual by Auda and the faithful Hugh de Gurley, was sick and fretful and had decided to move on.
‘I am going home,’ she said, dipping into the new box of sweetmeats Rhonwen had brought her. ‘Back to Alexander.’ Her eyes strayed to Luned who, as she directed the boys who had accompanied her, laden with rolls of silk, showed as yet no sign of the pregnancy she had excitedly and confidently announced to them all. ‘Some of this silk can make me new gowns to please him at the Easter celebrations at Dunfermline.’
‘These are the latest designs, your grace.’ Luned smiled with professional pride. ‘Straight from the looms of some of our best weavers, and you will find none better. Even the Queen of England has not seen them yet.’
Eleyne touched the silk gently and found herself smiling at the irony which had just dawned on her. She would not be able to afford Luned’s wares.
The queen bought four dozen ells of silk and at once she presented two dress lengths to Eleyne. ‘A gift from your uncle and me,’ she said.
Eleyne examined the stuff in delight, fingering its featherlight texture. Joanna had given her one of green, spun with madder thread, and one of scarlet samite.
Rhonwen joined her to admire them. ‘I’ll take them and turn them into gowns for you, cariad,’ she said softly. ‘If you take them home, your husband will probably insist on having them made into tunics for himself.’
Eleyne hid a smile; the same thought had occurred to her. ‘Would you, Rhonwen? No one makes gowns like you.’
Rhonwen nodded, pleased. ‘I have two first-rate dressmakers in Milk Street. They will sew to my direction, and they embroider as well as I do. Come to me in three days and you can have a fitting.’
‘I’ll find a way of getting there,’ Eleyne agreed. ‘In this case the truth will do: I am to visit a dressmaker. Once the gowns are made he cannot unstitch them!’ She hugged Joanna. ‘You are so kind. When will I see you again?’
Joanna thought for a moment. ‘Come to us in Scotland. Your husband was often at Alexander’s court with his brother; persuade him to come again. Lord Winchester holds many lands in Scotland, and I am sure there are reasons why you could come north.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘I know Alexander would love to see you.’
There was a short silence. Eleyne could feel her cheeks colouring and quickly she turned away to watch the silk boys refolding the lengths of fabric and wrapping them. ‘Then I shall come,’ she said at last, her mouth dry, ‘of course I shall.’
XI
THE PALACE OF WESTMINSTER
‘So, you want a pardon for this murderess.’ Henry sat back on his chair of state and belched reflectively. ‘She must mean a great deal to you.’
The Earl of Winchester and his brother had left the hall to view some new horses of the king’s. She had hung back and begged her uncle to listen to her plea.
‘She was put in charge of me by my mother, sire. She has looked after me since I was born. She killed poor Cenydd in self-defence – in my defence.’
Henry frowned. ‘I am not sure that is the story I heard.’
‘Then you were not told the truth, sire. Had you been fully informed, you would already have pardoned her,’ Eleyne pleaded. ‘I need her, your grace. I do not have many friends or servants in Robert de Quincy’s household.’
She held his gaze and saw him shift uncomfortably in his chair. He had ordered the marriage of several lords at court to foreigners from his wife’s entourage, and that action too had earned him nothing but hatred and anger. He set his mouth in a stubborn line. ‘You are not complaining of my choice of a husband for you, I hope.’
‘Of course not, sire.’ Her face was as stubborn as his. ‘But I am sure that you will allow me the company of the Lady Rhonwen in the life you have chosen for me.’
‘I suppose it would be all right, if it will make you happy. Very well. I can’t believe the woman is a danger to anyone else. Come next week and I shall have a pardon drawn up.’
‘Could you not do it now, my uncle?’
He shook his head testily. ‘No, I could not. Now go, go with your husband before I change my mind!’
XII
Robert made no difficulty three days later when she announced that she was going out. He had been summoned to the court with Lord Winchester to attend the king and was anxious to leave at once.
The house in Chester Court was just off Gracechurch Street. It stood end on to the narrow, dark alley, but behind the high gates it was large and rambling. Fully occupied only once or twice a year in the past when Countess Clemence had visited London, it had remained empty for several years now as her increasing age prevented her from travelling. Rhonwen ran it with a well-trained, obedient staff and lived in more state than Eleyne had enjoyed on her last visit to Fotheringhay.
The gowns were hanging in a large airy bedchamber which looked out on a small central garden with gravelled walks and formal rose beds. The two dressmakers were waiting, and Rhonwen was smiling. Eleyne had told her the news of the pardon and she could not contain the elation which had swept through her.
The fittings took only a short time. Rhonwen had remembered Eleyne’s measurements with complete accuracy, but she scowled at the amount of weight Eleyne had lost. ‘You are like a starving waif, cariad.’ She took Eleyne’s hand gently. ‘You are not ill?’
‘No, of course not. I’m never ill, you know that.’
‘Then you are still unhappy?’
‘Of course I am unhappy! What do you expect? Oh, he doesn’t beat me any more; he doesn’t force me to do anything I don’t want.’ She gave Rhonwen a rueful grimace. ‘But that is because he has no lever to use against me now; and besides, he wants me to help advance him with the king. He would do anything for that.’
‘But you would rather be in Scotland.’ Rhonwen said the words so quietly that the dressmakers could not hear them.
‘Rhonwen, I have told you – ’
‘Tschk! I know what you told me, but you are no longer married to that milksop earl! He is gone. Your heart is free to go where it wishes.’
‘It does not wish to go anywhere, Rhonwen.’
‘I think it does, cariad. And I think you will soon have your heart’s desire.’
XIII
Thursday 4 March 1238
Four days later Eleyne presented herself before the king wearing one of her new gowns. When Robert had seen it, he had gone white with anger.
‘Where did you get the money for that? Sweet Christ’s bones, do you think you still live in the style of your former life? You will bankrupt me, madam.’
Eleyne refrained from mentioning that her husband’s mantle was also new, the third she had seen since they had arrived in London, and that the money for it came from her coffers.
‘It was a gift, sir,’ she said with a cold smile, ‘from the Queen of Scots.’
‘Indeed. In that case I suppose we must be thankful for her generosity.’ He scowled with bad grace and was still scowling when they arrived at the Palace of Westminster.
This time he could not speak to the king alone, and she was acutely conscious of Robert at her shoulder when she asked her question. ‘The matter we spoke of last week, your grace. Do you have it for me?’
Henry looked at her, his expression puzzled. ‘What matter, niece?’
‘The pardon, sire.’
‘The pardon?’ He rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand. ‘Ah, yes, the pardon. I have had no chance to think about it, ask me again next week.’
‘But your grace – ’
‘Next week!’ He squinted up at her. ‘I have not decided yet whether I am going to grant the woman a pardon at all. I have to make enquiries …’
Eleyne was speechless for a few seconds. ‘But you promised – ’
‘I did not promise anything, Lady Chester.’ He emphasised the formal address. ‘I shall think about it. Next week.’
Out of the corner of her eye Eleyne saw that Robert was frowning, his mouth tight with anger. ‘But, my lord king, uncle, please listen – ’
‘Leave us!’ Henry snapped so loudly that men and women below the dais fell silent and stared up at the group of figures around the king’s high seat. He turned to a messenger who had just come in. ‘Well, what is it, man?’
Eleyne was dismissed. She drew breath, stunned by his betrayal, but the gasped message of the man who had dropped to his knees in front of the king stopped her short as she turned away.
‘It is the Queen of Scots, sire. She is dying!’
Henry rose. ‘What did you say?’
‘Your sister is dying, sire! She was to have left for Scotland today, but she was taken ill in the night. This morning she went into a convulsion and now she lies near to death.’
‘No.’ Eleyne’s whispered protest went unheard.
The king looked at the messenger as if he could not understand what the man was saying. ‘My sister?’ he repeated under his breath, ‘Near to death? But how? She was well. She came to bid me farewell only two days ago. She was to take messages from me to the King of Scots. I gave her gifts –’ He shook his head, trying to absorb what the man had said. ‘Are there physicians with her?’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘And don’t they know what is wrong? Can’t they help her, for Sweet Christ’s sake!’
‘They say she is beyond help, your grace. Only divine intervention can save her now.’ The messenger crossed himself, and the king and those around him followed suit.
‘I must go to her.’ Eleyne was one of the first to recover from the shock. ‘Please, uncle, let me go to her now.’
He nodded vaguely. ‘And I. The queen and I shall go to her bedside. Poor Joanna – ’
At a run Eleyne threaded her way down through the crowded hall to the door, leaving Robert standing at the king’s side.
The huge courtyard was milling with people and there was no sign of the de Quincy horses. She saw two knights riding in through the main gateway, both mounted on high-stepping horses, fresh from their stables. Gathering her new scarlet skirts above the mud, she ran towards them.
‘Please, sirs, will one of you lend me your horse and the other ride with me to the Tower? It is a matter of life and death.’ Her hand was already on the bridle of the horse nearest to her.
The man gaped at her, then his face broke into a grin. He didn’t know this vision in scarlet, but the huge green eyes and beautiful face were enough. ‘Of course, my lady. For you, anything!’ He slid from the horse and handed her up into the high saddle. ‘Escort the lady wherever she wants to go, Edmund,’ he called to his companion. ‘If she wants to ride to furthest Cathay itself, take her there with my blessing!’ He swept a low bow.
Eleyne
touched her hand to her lips, automatically reacting to his handsome good humour, but already she was kicking the horse out past the king’s guard towards the bridge over the Tyburn away from Westminster, towards the City of London. Edmund cantered at her side. ‘Sir Edmund de Merton, at your service, my lady,’ he called. ‘May I ask what quest we ride on so frantically?’
‘The Queen of Scots is dying,’ Eleyne cried. ‘She is my aunt and I love her.’
Sir Edmund kicked his horse to keep up with her, but she had drawn away from him, urging her mount through the traffic of wagons and carts which thronged the road. He found it hard to keep up, but when at last they reached the Tower he was still at her side. Eleyne threw herself from the horse. ‘Thank you.’ The smile she turned on Edmund as she flung the reins of the borrowed animal at him was so full of sadness that he stood still, stunned. Then she was gone.
Joanna lay in the darkened room, surrounded by her servants. She was completely still, seeming barely able to breathe beneath the velvet bedcoverings. The men and women around her stood back as Eleyne approached the bed on tiptoe and took Joanna’s hand. It was cold.
‘She cannot hear you, my lady,’ Auda whispered through her tears as Eleyne breathed Joanna’s name. ‘She is sinking fast.’
‘But how? Why? How can she be dying?’
An old man in the black robe and carrying the staff of a physician stepped forward.
‘The queen has been ill often, my lady. She has a fever in her womb. It was that condition that deprived her of children and it was to cure it that she made her pilgrimage to Canterbury. It seems,’ he crossed himself, ‘that it was too late even for St Thomas’s intervention.’
‘But she was better, she told me she was better.’
‘She told you what she hoped, my lady. She could not accept the truth.’
Joanna died as the early dusk fell across the city beyond the high walls of the great castle. The king, her brother, Queen Eleanor and Eleyne were at her bedside, with her entire household ranged behind them. Most were crying softly, but Joanna knew nothing of it. Her life slipped away so gently that for a while no one realised she had gone.
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